


The Shape of Your Lips

by beastieboys



Category: Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children (2016)
Genre: Deaf Character, M/M, Strangers to Lovers, bad boy enoch, pastel jake, popular jake, punk enoch
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-18
Updated: 2018-02-11
Packaged: 2019-03-06 13:47:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13412571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beastieboys/pseuds/beastieboys
Summary: Enoch moves around often with his rich investor parents. Schools are the same. Life is the same. Enoch even considers himself to be predictable. But there’s just one tiny thing that seems to have slipped through the cracks of this cycle of dependability.





	1. Another New School

**Author's Note:**

> hi i'm alive!!! and kickin!!! what's up how's it going? i'm active again now on [tumblr (@hollowheart)](http://tumblr.com/hollowheart) and help keep me that way by like.....adding to the tag and write fics and show me art and stuff. please. i'm in desperate need. 
> 
> if you like what i do, i opened up a [ko-fi](http://ko-fi.com/hollowheart) for you to toss in any spare change you have. i'm heading off to college soon and i'm broke. thanks!
> 
> enjoy this fic, it should be around 3 chapters or so!!

Enoch O’Connor thinks popularity is stupid. Then again, he’s never been popular in his life. He’s never been anywhere long enough to be popular. But he’s okay with that. His type of person would be. And by type, one means how he dresses and acts. Enoch will tell you himself that his entire constitution is based off one Jason Dean from  _ Heathers.  _ Not that that guy was a role model or anything. He was a piece of shit.

But Enoch can relate to him, what with him moving around a lot with his investors for parents, who are always searching for something new to put their fortune into, rather than, well, Enoch himself. He’s not complaining, though. He’d rather be dead than the heir of  _ O’Connor Enterprises _ . 

He looks at himself in the long mirror hanging on his newly painted wall. He’s in a new house, with new neighbors, and yet this mirror is the same as it’s always been.  _ He’s  _ the same. His hair is dark, his eyes sunken. His lips are big-- a selling point, if you’d ask him--but the beauty of them are often lost in his snarl or frown. 

Enoch grabs the leather jacket hanging from his desk chair and slides it on over his  _ Runaways  _ tee, which is about as old and faded as he feels. He snorts at his own joke. He adjusts the collar and tucks the shirt into his jeans. 

At breakfast, he sits at the kitchen table alone, eating dry cereal out of a box with a fork. He wants to say he does it to be rebellious, but they haven’t unpacked any spoons yet and haven’t been to the store for milk.

The house is empty, as it usually is at this time, but Enoch doesn’t mind. It gives him a chance to get himself together. He’s done this what feels like hundreds of times. Go to school, hate everyone because friends are meaningless, and move away in three months. Easy-peasy.

The bus shows up late to Enoch’s stop, which Enoch knew was going to happen, because he’s three days out from getting a car for his birthday and he’s already got his license. This is the universe’s bitter  _ fuck you _ , and Enoch happily returns that sentiment.

The interior of the bus smells like, well,  _ shit _ as he looks down upon the fearful faces of freshman and the interested sophomores trying to piece together who he is. He makes no eye contact and takes the nearest empty seat, slinging his backpack beside him so no one can join him. 

Enoch opens his eyes when the bus stops. Outside his window is another dreary mid-city school made of large, brown bricks. The kids on the bus file out until it’s only him and a few other upperclassmen left, and he lets them all leave before he even stands up. The bus driver gives him a sour look as he takes for-fucking- _ ever _ , but Enoch doesn’t care. He only has two more days of riding the bus, and two months, twenty-nine days left at this school.

A few people look at him out of curiosity when he enters the building. He’s not the tallest, but he’s taller than most of the literal children in this hallway, and he hopes that they can feel fear as he walks down. They can’t, of course, as he hasn’t done anything yet, and likely won’t unless someone decides to get smart with him. 

His classes are boring. He’s already learned about the New Deal three times, so it’s starting to feel like the Old Deal. The dynamics of the students are similar as well; there’s a know-it-all who doesn’t actually know anything, whose name is Emma and he has her in not one, not two, but  _ three  _ classes; a kid who reads instead of paying attention, Horton his name is, Enoch thinks; there’s a pretty girl who freaks out every time she gets called on in his pre-calculus class, her name is Olive. Wow, it’s like he’s already making friends or something. But he isn’t, because no one introduced him to the class as their “newest pupil” like they always do in any of his classes. He was just a nameless face who observed the average workings of this prison. And he loves it. 

While he may be too punk for just about anything normal (or at least  _ he  _ thinks), he still brings his lunch to school. Of course, it’s in a beat-up Rolling Stones tin lunchbox, but nonetheless, his food was neatly packed by his mother before she left. 

Enoch snags a seat at a run-down table at the back of the cafeteria. The table has paint on it and some food crumbs, but Enoch doesn’t care. He pulls out his PB and J -- don’t laugh! -- and unravels the cellophane encasing it. People walk by him and glance in his direction, and he takes a mean bite of his crustless sandwich to intimidate them. 

The talkative Emma girl walks by Enoch. Her arm is tangled with a skinny one of a pale boy with dark Beatle hair. She isn’t saying anything to him, which is surprising, since she wouldn’t  _ shut up  _ in chemistry. She all but leads the boy to a table in the middle of the cafeteria full of other people, but somehow it had two empty seats in the middle, as if made for them.

Oh.

Duh.

They’re  _ popular.  _ Or whatever this school’s replacement of popular is. Cool? Artsy? Rich? Friendly?

Who cares.

_ Whocareswhocareswhocares! _

Enoch sits up a bit from his hunch to watch them eat. The whole table laughs periodically, but he never sees the boy’s mouth move. Must be the quiet charmer type. Not that he’s very charming. He’s just tall and skinny, which is like, most of the requirement to being attractive to high school girls.

Enoch cleans up his trash (he’s a punk, not a  _ monster _ ) and follows Emma and the boy out from the cafeteria into the hallway. He can’t really see what they’re doing, but their arms are moving a lot and they keep touching their faces. Weird.

The bell rings and he makes sure to be late for his last class. Enoch walks in a whole three minutes late but the teacher doesn’t say anything or even look at him. The only seat open is one in the front, right ahead of the silent Beatle. His blue eyes gaze up at Enoch before looking down and to the side, not all sweet and dainty like Enoch had the impression the boy was, but kind of angsty and deadpan.

Enoch shoves himself into the desk and faces the side, letting the teacher’s words go in one ear and out the other. He might as well be taking a nap. 

The teacher starts a video about proper lab etiquette or something of the sort and puts on the subtitles. Enoch glances beside him at his Chemistry lab partner, a small boy who  _ has  _ to be a freshman, from the way his face looks determined and how his collar is tucked into his sweater vest. This kid doesn’t look happy to have a partner all of the sudden.

Enoch has some sympathy in his heart for the kid, however, so he lets the sap do the entire lab on his own. Enoch has mastered the art of looking involved enough when the teacher walks by to not raise any suspicion. 

The aspirin fizzes in the beaker nearest Enoch and he wonders if that’s supposed to happen. He doesn’t care that much, but he looks back at the dark-haired boy and his partner briefly to see if theirs looks the same. The boy catches his eye for a moment before looking away. Enoch’s stomach turns a bit. 

As school lets out, finally,  _ goddamn finally this day is over,  _ Enoch saunters to the bus like he’s got everywhere better to be. In front of him walks that Olive girl, and he gives her a quick check up and down. Nice. In front of her are the blonde chick, Emma, and that boy. It’s like they’re really trying not to leave Enoch alone. What’s their deal anyway? 

It doesn’t matter. Enoch will be moving soon. 


	2. Transient

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enoch decides that he doesn't want to be some transient background character anymore, so he makes to change it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hiya! i hope you enjoy this chapter! it's also available to read on [wattpad](https://www.wattpad.com/user/hollowhearting) now with ALL of my other stories!!! if you like my stuff, please follow me there and on [tumblr](https://hollowheart.tumblr.com) as well!!
> 
> ALSO, if you like to DRAW i NEED more fanart in my life so yeah. post it on tumblr using the #hollowheart hashtag or link me to it and i'll post it with credit for you. please. i'm deprived. enjoy!

Enoch settles into his spot for lunch. The table isn’t as empty as he’d like it to be, considering the cafeteria is crowded and the stoner group isn’t afraid to sit near him, but he still considers himself to be alone. He’d say that everything has settled just fine in the span of a week, but, truthfully, everything was already settled. His mom mastered the art of packing light and organized, so within three days of the first he had spoons, clothes, a change of bedsheets, and, most surprising, his car. It’s a clunker, a first car, but he’s relieved to have it. Schools are the same. Life is the same. Enoch even considers himself to be predictable.

But there’s just one tiny thing that seems to have slipped through the cracks of this cycle of dependability.

Enoch glances across the cafeteria to see _ him _ surrounded by friends. 

His name, Enoch learned, is Jake Portman. He doesn’t know anything else, except that he never seems to talk, or make any sort of noise for that matter. There’s just something about him that is elusive to Enoch, something mysterious, something…. _ tempting. _

They only share the one Chemistry class, and Enoch sits in front of him, so he can’t study him like he wants to. He can’t observe. So he only watches during lunch as the quiet boy, usually dressed in some pastel t-shirt and jeans with a stupid looking hoodie wrapped around his waist, nods along with friends, laughing silently, never uttering a word. 

Jake, from his spot a few tables away, glances in Enoch’s direction, briefly making eye contact. Enoch has never been one to look away first, so he maintains the look with a glare. And then Jake does something even more intimidating: he smiles gently. Jake turns away afterward and Enoch is left with his mouth running dry.

What did that even  _ mean? _ Enoch looks down at his attire, pulling it from his body in different places. Does he not look scary enough? Or mean enough? Enoch turns his head to watch a group of kids with dyed hair argue over the Dungeons and Dragons rulebook. His mind drifts back to that smile though, only enforced by the stark blue of the boy’s eyes. He feels warm, uneasy, almost  _ happy  _ in a surreal and unwanted way. 

Enoch scratches at his collarbone, uncomfortable.

The bell rings above him and Enoch sighs. He stands and collects his garbage and tosses it in the trash on the way out of the cafeteria without a second glance. 

As Enoch saunters into the student parking lot at the end of the day, he whips out his dark sunglasses and arranges them on his face. Perfect to notice, perfect to watch, perfect to observe. He glances around him at the various other students leaving the building and walking toward their cars. Among them are a couple faces he recognizes well: Emma, the blonde, arm sewn to, as always, that Jake boy. Without any hesitation, Enoch’s heart speeds up in his chest. His eyes, hidden by the deep brown of his sunglasses, trail the two teens as they meander toward an electric blue Honda Civic. Emma opens the driver door and Jake follows suit on the passenger side. Enoch stands, his backpack hanging off one shoulder, focused on the little car as it backs out of the parking spot and speeds away into the distance.

Enoch shuffles to his own car, brown and dinged in a few places, just as he wanted when he asked for one. His mom laughed, his dad felt relief, as no one can destroy a car that’s already falling apart.

He shoves his backpack in the backseat and climbs into the front seat. Enoch starts the car and tunes the radio to something fitting to his current taste and turns it low. He pulls out of his spot in the lot and drives home. A flash of blue catches his eye in the rearview mirror and his thoughts jump consecutively to that Honda Civic and Jake Portman’s blue eyes.

Enoch wakes the next morning with a leftover feeling in his gut, probably from whatever dreams he had, but he can’t remember any. He feels warm and alone, like someone got out of bed before he woke up.

He throws on a shirt and wanders downstairs to the kitchen. No one is home, of course, so he opens the fridge and grabs the milk. Enoch unscrews the top and chugs a bit of the milk before replacing the jug as if nothing happened. He doesn’t particularly like milk, but he loves the sense of corruption he gets from the act of drinking it. 

He grabs a banana from the fruit bowl on his kitchen table that his father so expertly prepared and peels it. 

Enoch walks back upstairs, taking bites every couple steps until he reaches the top. He re-enters his room, tosses the banana in the trash by the door, and grabs his phone. The bathroom awaits.

As Enoch dresses, hair wet and curly from the shower, he stares at himself in the mirror. His body buzzes with a warm sort of excitement he’s never felt before. His mind flashes back to those blue eyes, savoring the memory until Enoch snaps himself out.

“What the fuck?” he mumbles to himself, glancing between his brown eyes in the mirror.

Enoch’s car pulls into the lot as the students of Whatever The Fuck High School trickle in from all directions. That kid who did Enoch’s chemistry lab walks down the sidewalk, visibly sweaty. For a brief moment, Enoch ponders hitting him lightly with his car.

Nah, then who would do the labs?

Enoch joins the sea of fish swimming the halls to homeroom and his mind drifts like seaweed. He thinks of the show he binged a couple weeks ago while his parents drove the Uhaul to this podunk town. He wishes he could be like the main character, James or whatever, and fucking kill somebody or fall in love or run away and escape to France via boat. Something. Enoch O’Connor wants something more than transience. 

That realization swells in the back of his mind over the course of the day. He wants something to make him feel human and not like the character in the background of someone else’s film, the extra who gets to wear the set-appointed leather jacket and ripped jeans in an effort to create a diverse backdrop.

During lunch, his brain shouts at him to do something he’s never actually thought of: approach someone and say hello.

Enoch shakes the thought. The reason he has no connections is because he doesn’t want to lose them when he inevitably moves again, no matter how much he wants to.

But his mind raises him this: What if Enoch talks to that Jake Portman? He seems like a challenge, an enigma. Jake doesn’t talk for whatever reason, but his eyes whispered so many things that Enoch suddenly feels desperate to hear. 

This thought compels Enoch more so than simply forming a bond with one of the stoners. 

Enoch licks his teeth, weighing the pros and cons of what becoming friends with Jake Portman would do to his social life, his status, and his heart.

_ His heart? What is he, a wuss? _

That’s it, he decides. He’ll do it, if for no other reason than to say that he did.

Enoch takes his time packing up after chemistry class. Jake Portman seems to do the same thing often, Enoch remembers, so he takes his sweet time putting his one pen back into the front pocket of his backpack.

Jake stands from behind him and meanders to the door, leaving plenty of time for Enoch to catch up to him. 

“Hey,” Enoch says from behind Jake as they turn the corner from the classroom. Jake doesn’t look back at him. 

Enoch takes an even bigger risk than he ever bargained for and reaches out to touch Jake on his shoulder. 

Jake starts, but turns around to face him. A look of surprise and confusion melt together on his face. His blue eyes shine with a hint of something else. 

“Hey, how’s it going?” Enoch asks. Jake’s eyebrows knit together as he watches Enoch’s lips for a brief moment before he responds.

“Good.” His voice is soft and hesitant, but in a way that contrasts with Enoch’s expectation of it.

“How’d you do on the quiz? I really suck at chem, but you seem good at it.” Enoch rambles because he’s got Jake’s attention and when will he ever have it again like this without that Emma chick around? But Enoch didn’t plan anything to say.

Jake doesn’t say anything for a moment. Then he sighs.

“I’m deaf,” Jake says, making a few motions with his hands simultaneously.

_ Oh shit. _

It all makes sense now. The silence, the hand motions, the subtitles, his voice. Emma probably translates complicated stuff for him. Oh, God, how was Enoch so stupid, so blind as to not see?

“Oh, um, sorry--” Enoch starts but stops himself, for no explanation, if even correctly understood, could excuse his ignorance.

Jake smiles lightly, his eyes still shining. They look back up at Enoch’s own instead of his mouth.

“It’s okay. Goodbye.”

And like a mirage, a dream, all of Enoch’s hopes and fears at once, Jake Portman drifts down the hallway, joining the crowd of students lazily making their way to homeroom.

“Holy shit,” Enoch mumbles to himself.


End file.
